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How far would you go to save your family? It’s a question that’s been posed since time immemorial. As a narrative device, it’s grown relatively tired. But newcomer Kimberly Levin has given the dilemma a 21st century facelift. “Runoff,” the biochemist-turned-filmmaker’s directorial debut, is a compelling character study in environmental ethics. In the wake of last week’s news regarding our planet’s “looming mass extinction” largely attributed to man-made causes, Levin’s film is more relevant than ever. It’s an augury for the increasingly compromising ethical quandaries that face us today.
“Runoff” is the story of Betty, a Kentucky native who owns a modest farmstead with her husband and two sons. We catch them at financial rock bottom — unless they can raise funds to match a factory bid, the bank will foreclose on their land. To make matters worse, they’re in the midst of scrambling to afford their son’s college education. Backed into a desperate corner, Betty makes a Faustian bargain. Indiewire sat down with Levin to discuss the protagonist’s relatable dilemma, the benefit of shooting in your own hometown and nefarious, flesh-eating pigs.
You started out as a biochemist. How did you get into filmmaking?
How does that ethical framework come into play in “Runoff”?
I started thinking about the way that people make choices, what they prioritize when they make a choice, how they prioritize. I started thinking about this concept: How wide do you draw the circle around yourself when you make a choice? If you have a tough choice to make and your back’s against the wall, who’s inside that with you in that circle of protection? Is it you? Your family? Your community? How far out does that circle extend? We put blinders on to satisfy the urgent needs of this moment instead of thinking about further implications, because we feel like we can’t afford to. What happens, at least in the film for the character Betty, is that the implications catch up with her a little bit sooner than she thinks they will. The idea is really to condense or contract time in a way so that you can look at this tension between the urgency of the present moment and legacy. Legacy feels like this abstract concept that we put off until some distant time in the future… until it kicks you in the ass right now.
Every viewer interprets the film in very different ways. That’s something I was hoping would happen, because there’s enough space in the film to ask people to tell the story with the film as they’re watching it. That allows them to personalize the meaning in a very deep way. It’s my hope that people come out of the film and start talking to each other about things that they may not have otherwise. They can actually humanize each other. There’s not one character in the film that’s not compromised in some way. It’s the world that we’re looking at right now. We can’t all of us go off the grid. There is nobody above anyone else, nobody who’s been able to figure it out.
How did you finance the film?
What kind of freedom?
Freedom to take the time that it needs to actually find the perfect calibration for the story. To make sure the drama, the characters and their stories were at the core. Anything that was more political engagement bubbles underneath that. If you see it and want to engage it in, great. If you don’t, you can also watch the film as a straight narrative. That took a while to figure out. The financing allowed me to have space and time.
We would up driving all over the state to find farms because the farmers were wary. They have no idea who you are. The reality is, once people come in with cameras, you could say you’re one person and then you’re somebody else. If you’ve got the footage and you have the release, you can do whatever you want with it. It’s really important to build that trust. And it definitely helped that I was from Kentucky.
READ MORE: How I Shot That (LAFF Edition): Shooting a Cropdusting Plane for ‘Runoff’
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